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The stars are right.
Hastur's gaze gains brief
focus on the Earth,
and things change.

It is October 1928. London is the capitol of an empire covering a quarter of the globe and governing one quarter of the human race. The people busy themselves with concerns of politics and government, finance and production, work and recreation. How fragile things are. What ignorance there is.

There are those who engage in different pursuits - who would see an inhuman power come to Earth such that it would make mundane activity seem like a last twitch before dying.

Over this winter it's taint emerges: the sensitive and the weak feel it first. Few know the source, but some welcome it unconsciously - finding in it an unexamined thrill. Artist's work is strangely influenced, and they mine this vein of creativity. Many exhibitions this season feature similar images: a social gathering gripped by repressed panic; a lake or marsh cloaked in mist; a presence just off-canvas. New fiction and theatrical releases offer scenes of upheaval and confusion that never reach a climax. Seances and medium exhibitions bring untoward results and end in disruption. Others feel new lines of communication opening; some claim God is talking to them.